


turtle candy story

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, Candy, Candymaking, Chocolate, Confectionery, First Kiss, First Meetings, Food, Food Truck, Friendship, Gen, meet cute, sugar rush - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	1. Chapter 1

title: turtle candy story, 01  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 2675 in this part  
fandom: X-Men: First Class  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholme, Angel Salvadore, Emma Frost, Sean Cassidy, Moira MacTaggert, Armando Munoz, Hank McCoy, Kitty Pryde, Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Janos Quested, Azazel, Jason Wyngarde  
rating: PG  
notes: candy references [except for one] at the end of the story. And there are a lot of candies here, so caveat lector :)  
This was written for a prompt from [awesomethingsaregoodforyou](http://awesomethingsaregoodforyou.tumblr.com). This is a WIP.

  
As Charles Xavier trudges up the steps to his fifth-floor rooms he can hear the clatter and clash of Tuesday breakfast in a building full of university students, and even though he hasn’t really had anything to eat for the past twelve hours he’s too tired to feel hungry, and he just walks past the smells of toast and bacon and orange juice.

All he wants to do when he gets home is sleep. His hands are still covered in ink stains from the essay he’d been up all night writing.

His watch beeps at him, and he glances at the time - 8:30, what the fuck - as he fumbles to unlock his door.

The wave of whispers that gets past his exhausted fug is entirely unexpected, although he knows every single one of the faces clustered around the dining table, which he normally uses as an oversized boat of a desk.

Raven, Sean, Moira, Angel, Armando, and Hank: and it’s Hank who has his hands in the box with the purple lettering, and that is something that Charles doesn’t actually see every day.

“It has to be something good,” he mutters, mustering a smile despite his fatigue, “if all of you are squabbling over that. Which brings me to the question, what is _that_?”

“Geez, Charles, what have you been doing to yourself?” Raven says, and she gets up and steers him into the center of the circle.

Charles is so numb that he nearly forgets to say “Thank you” when Angel motions him into her chair. “Essay. Had to stay up all weekend on it.”

“Sucks, man,” Sean says, already bustling around the kitchen for pots and pans and the chipped kettle. “Tea? Something stronger?”

“Shot?” Charles asks, and doesn’t care that he sounds hopeful or that it’s a weekday morning.

“Shot,” Moira agrees. “Because even I can see you’re not at all in your right mind.”

“When is he ever,” Raven says, but she sounds fond, and Charles tries a lopsided smile at her, and gets pecked on the cheek for his troubles.

“Shot it is,” Sean says. “Anything else, or do you want to go straight to the candy, which I’m warning you now is nothing but crack?”

“Candy?” Charles asks, wishing he could perk up.

Hank grins, looking a little caught-out, and then pushes the box across a table. It makes a quiet scraping sound that makes Charles wince involuntarily. “It’s really good candy. You should have some. It might make you feel better.”

“What kind is it?”

“Turtles,” Armando says. “Good for you unless you’re allergic to nuts.”

“Thankfully, I’m not,” Charles says, and looks at the contents of the white box. Two layers of silver and magenta foil, with shallow cup-like indentations. There’s one more piece of candy on the upper layer: a cluster of pecans bound with golden-brown caramel, then capped off with chocolate. “Turtles,” he says, smiling appreciatively as he pops it into his mouth.

The sound that escapes his mouth seconds later is, frankly, not human at all. It might be on the edge of indecent. He can feel himself blush as he looks around. “I'm so sorry about that. My manners - ”

“No such thing, when it comes to those,” Angel giggles.

“These are glorious,” Charles says at last, and reluctantly washes down the delicate burnt-sugar and dark chocolate flavors with the cup of strong tea that Sean hands over. “Thank you for letting me try them.”

“Makes you want your own box,” Raven says with a huge grin. “Fortunately, I know exactly where they’re from.”

“Yes?”

She directs his attention to the writing on the inner lid.

_EML Confectionery_

“New place in town,” Moira supplies helpfully, when Charles looks back up. “New like they only opened up yesterday new.”

“Jean gave us the tip,” Angel says. “She says Scott bought her a box and she basically ate the whole thing in one sitting.”

“My teeth hate me now, but - worth it,” Hank says, grinning.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” Charles says.

He closes his eyes and takes in the banter from all sides as Sean asks a question and everyone else laughs while answering, and after a moment he allows himself a smile.

“Feel better?” Raven asks.

He takes her hand. “Much. The candy was wonderful, and this tea is good, and maybe I can turn my thoughts off long enough to get a proper kip.”

“Do I have to wake you up later?”

Charles huffs out a small, tired laugh. “I’ll wake myself up. Just leave a note if you’re going out.”

“I will.”

He gets up, waves a tired farewell to the others, and lets Raven pour him into bed.

*

When he pries himself out of bed several hours later, there’s a sandwich waiting for him in the refrigerator. Next to the sandwich is a saucer with two more turtle candies.

He texts a quick “Thank you” to Raven before he tucks into his meal.

/Good, you’re awake,/ is the next message. It’s from Moira. /If you’re not busy, come on down to the labs. We’re trying to get a bunch of people to go to the candy shop with us./

/“Us” being?/ Charles sends.

/So far it’s Jean and Raven and me. We’re waiting for Emma and Kitty to bail on their study groups. Armando’s driving./

/Okay. Let me get dressed./

The phone rings as he’s pulling his favorite peacoat on. “Yes, Raven,” Charles says, smiling into the phone.

“You’re wearing that tweed thing of yours,” she says.

“No, I’m not. I’m wearing the coat you gave me two birthdays ago.”

“Thank goodness for cold weather,” she says fondly. “You’ll do. Come on down, ’Mando’s going to be here soon.”

*

It’s a tight fit in Armando’s battered pickup truck, but with a little judicious contortion Charles manages to get comfortable in the back seat, where he’s wedged in between Jean and Kitty. “All this for candy,” he says, teasingly, and he tugs gently on Jean’s braid for good measure.

“Stop it,” she laughs. “Also, yes. All this for candy. The most amazing candy in the history of ever.”

“We know it’s the good stuff,” Emma says from the shotgun seat. “And we know it because we know you really did a number on Scott. Never saw him that bruised before.”

That sets off a chorus of “I really did not need to know that!” and “Brain bleach!” and “TMI, Emma!”

Charles can’t stop grinning, even when the muscles in his face start to ache.

*

“There it is,” Kitty says, and then Charles learns that EML Confectionery is some kind of pop-up operation. The smallish truck is discreetly trimmed in the same silver and purple and red as the box of candy, and that seems to be enough to identify it.

The only way they can even know that they’ve pulled up to the right truck is the name on the passenger door.

The girls are grinning and giggling as they pile out onto the sidewalk.

Charles heads right for the display, and he can’t help but raise his eyebrows at what he sees in the chiller.

“Evening,” someone says from above, and he looks up at the man in the t-shirt and the red ski cap. “Looking for any kind of candy in particular? We take requests once a month or so, when we’re bored.”

Charles laughs, and offers his hand to shake. “Hi. I’m Charles, and I’m new, so maybe I’ll stick with what you have now. The turtle candies were superb. I’m hoping everything else is just as good.”

“I can tell you they are, since the boss makes everything himself,” the man says. “I’m Janos. Az is over there with your friends, unless that’s actually Jason. Can I recommend the almond and salt pralines, or the chocolate bark? We have s’mores in dark, peppermint in milk, and oat crunch in white.”

Charles smiles. “It all sounds so good, I don’t know if I can even choose.”

“So don’t,” a new voice says. “Sampler box, Janos. Extra turtles.”

Janos grins and taps his fingers against his eyebrow. “Sure thing, boss.”

“Next week we’ll be selling some new things, like apricot and plum gelt,” the newcomer says. His ski cap is dark maroon. “It’s still a long way to Hanukkah, but it takes time to make really good candy. Lots of patience and lots of batches before we can get things right.”

“You’re really passionate about candy,” Charles says.

The man grins, wide and disarming and graceless. “Wouldn’t be much of a confectioner if I wasn’t.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about being a good confectioner, if those turtle candies were any indication.”

“The caramel recipe is my father’s," is the reply. “Secret recipe that he got from _his_ father, my grandpa. That’s why it's so good.”

“It brought me back to life after a bad weekend,” Charles says. “So I thank you, and I thank your father.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it on.” The man nods. “We’ve been talking for a minute and I don’t know who you are. I’m Erik Lehnsherr. This is my candy truck, for lack of a better term.”

“Charles Xavier.” Erik’s hand is large and rough and callused and warm. He has a hearty grip and a lot of lines in his face, lines that grow deeper when he smiles.

Janos knocks on the side of the truck to catch their attention. “One sampler box for Charles,” he says. “And a little bit of a problem for Erik. I think there’s something wrong with the little stove, because your chocolate is seriously in danger of losing its temper.”

“Losing its temper - ?” Charles asks, faintly. “I wasn’t aware chocolate had a temper to lose.”

“I’ll explain later if I can - I have to deal with this now,” Erik says, taking the box from Janos and pressing it into Charles’s hands.

“I’m sure I can find some way to look you up,” Charles says, and then Erik’s smile drops away into a harried expression.

Charles watches him swing up into the back of the truck with hasty grace, and blinks in pleased disbelief.

“Hey, how come your box is bigger than mine?” Raven asks, suddenly, and Charles crashes back into the present, into the presence of the others. Almost everyone has a piece of candy or is talking about the candy; Raven’s box is identical to the one that the turtles had been in, and Charles’s box is half again as large.

Charles says, “I couldn’t choose something in particular, so they gave me a little of everything in general.”

“Nice,” Armando says. “So I guess that box is off limits for now. Which means it’s open season on Raven’s, and on Emma’s, and on Kitty’s - ”

He’s cut off when the girls yowl in mock indignation. Everyone laughs afterwards.

Charles is borne off by the others after that, but he manages to catch Erik's eye, and he mouths, “Tomorrow?”

Erik winks at him in return.

Charles feels unaccountably, pleasantly warm all the way home.

*

Charles is very, very tempted to just bring the entire box with him to the library the next morning, since he’s supposed to get back to his research on the Barker hypothesis, and going through the papers that he’s already reserved will take him the better part of the day.

He’s going to need a distraction to get through all that studying, and the candy will help him keep his spirits up.

There is supposed to be a rule against snacking in the stacks, but Charles fills his pockets with some candy anyway, carefully rewrapping each piece in paper so he doesn’t get sugar on his hands.

Everything from the box is good, and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He sends Raven a text message as he’s stretching his legs after lunch. /I think I’m in love with the candy./

/Better than the turtles?/ is her near-immediate reply.

/Nothing is better than the turtles,/ Charles says. /But I think I could actually murder someone for the s’mores bark./

/You and your dark chocolate fetish,/ Raven sends. /But seriously, they’re good, aren’t they?/

/They’re very good./

/You going back?/

Charles smothers a smile. /Maybe./

/Soon?/ Raven sends. /Because you should. I watched you talking to those guys in the truck. You looked happy. I like seeing you happy./

That’s enough incentive for him to step out again, and hit speed-dial. “Thank you,” he says when Raven picks up.

He can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “You’re welcome. Now go finish whatever it is you’re doing today and go get ready to find the truck again.”

“I will.”

*

The EML Confectionery truck is parked right across from Charles’s favorite bookshop, when he finds it a few hours later; it doesn’t seem to be open yet, however, because the interior lights are still turned off.

Charles looks between the door of the bookshop and the driver’s side door of the truck, and knocks on the truck’s frame. “Hello?”

“Come back in twenty minutes, we’ll be open by then,” comes the reply from inside.

“It’s Charles Xavier; are you seriously all by yourself in there?” he calls.

Erik looks tousled and surprised when he pops up over the display. “Hello,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour, if you were coming at all. The others went to get dinner. I’m working on something.”

Charles smiles. “A busy life,” he teases. “Shall I get out of your way, then...?”

“Please don’t,” Erik says. After another pause, he adds, “You’re not in my way; you might be able to help me, actually.”

“How so?”

Erik disappears again, and Charles watches with mild alarm as the truck creaks and rocks from side to side. “Everything okay?”

“She’s just acting up, I hope - she’ll hold together,” Erik says when he drops onto the sidewalk, but he bangs on the truck’s door just the same. “You hear me, old girl? _Hold together._ ”

Charles’s laugh tapers off when he looks at the dish in Erik’s hand. Dark disks of chocolate, the approximate size and shape of pirate-treasure coins. “More Hanukkah experiments?”

Erik shrugs. “Maybe. Tell me if it tastes right?”

Charles bites into one. There is an unexpected crackle in the middle of the coin. He tilts the bitten edge into the light to reveal a paper-thin wafer of caramel in the center.

“Wow,” he says after a moment. “I wish I could ask you for a box of these. What a brilliant idea.”

“This is all of the first batch,” Erik says. “Do you want the rest?”

“I don’t see how there could be any other answer than ‘yes’,” Charles says. “How much?”

“No charge.”

“I couldn't possibly - ”

“I insist.”

“...Thank you,” Charles says. And: “If you won’t accept money, at least let me do something in return. Please. No matter what kind of favor it might be.”

Erik grins, then. “Lend me your phone for a moment.”

“Certainly,” Charles says.

He’s expecting a phone number, an email address, a Twitter handle; what he gets instead is a new entry in his note-taking app.

“I usually give the others Fridays off, and work by myself,” Erik offers. “That's the itinerary for this coming Friday. You can come and keep me company if you like.”

Charles tilts his head at Erik, then deliberately looks at the truck. “I hope you have room in the passenger seat for a lot of books. Genetics texts, you see. I refuse to consider getting a tablet. Most of the time the pages don’t smell so bad.”

Erik laughs. “As opposed to books that smell like sugar? Because I already have a ton of books in there. Mostly about candy, and the rest are about chocolate. I’m pretty sure you can fit yours in around them.”

Charles beams. “Excellent. I look forward to it.”

“So do I.”

**to be continued**

_references_  
\- Candy recipes: [chocolate-covered turtles](http://www.marthastewart.com/319515/chocolate-covered-turtles), [soft caramels](http://leitesculinaria.com/4413/recipes-caramels.html), [basic chocolate bark](http://www.marthastewart.com/296273/basic-bark), [almond and salt pralines](http://www.marthastewart.com/353230/marcona-almond-and-fleur-de-sel-pralines)  
\- [How to temper chocolate](http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2005/08/tempering-choco/)  



	2. Chapter 2

title: turtle candy story, 02  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 2886 in this part  
fandom: X-Men: First Class  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Raven Darkholme, Moira MacTaggert, Armando Munoz, Kitty Pryde, Janos Quested, Azazel, Jason Wyngarde, Edie Lehnsherr, Jakob Lehnsherr  
rating: PG  
notes: more candy references at the end. Yep, there’s still a lot of candy.  
This was written for a prompt from [awesomethingsaregoodforyou](http://awesomethingsaregoodforyou.tumblr.com). The second chapter was inspired by [afrocurl](http://rozf.tumblr.com).

 

Erik is two blocks away from the truck when his phone beeps for an incoming message.

/Figured out what I wanted. Ask them for a vegetarian frito pie, chile verde if they have it./

The idea makes his eyebrow twitch, and he hits speed-dial. “Do I even want to know what that thing you just ordered is? Is it even food?”

“I’m settling for a very distant second best. It’s nothing like what my mom makes,” Jason tells him. “And I have no way of duplicating her dish out here, so I can’t even commandeer the stove to do it myself.”

“Don’t you dare; I’m going to attempt the Keller marshmallow recipe later,” Erik says. “There had better still be some peppermint extract in the truck.”

“Hey, it’s Az who drinks the stuff in his coffee. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”

There’s a quiet buzz in the restaurant when Erik steps in; it’s nothing like the lunch rush, however, so he orders a lemon soda and idles at the counter while they make his sandwich and Janos and Azazel’s burritos and whatever it is that Jason’s ordered, and he looks around at the customers lingering at the battered tables.

Maybe he’ll wind up making enough money to find a permanent location for the confectionery gig, and maybe he’ll spend the rest of his days trucking around and hoping the sugar doesn’t suddenly crystallize while they’re cruising down a highway.

What he does is something work-intensive and very personal, and he likes it that way: he knows the candy to the last jot and tittle, to the last ounce of sugar and the last drop of cream. It’s what his parents used to do, until they both decided to retire and soak up the sun instead.

Erik visits them every few months, whenever he feels like selling candy in Florida.

Lunch back at the truck is a relay: two people man the displays at all times, and two people huddle over the three folding chairs on the other side with plates. 

Because Erik lingers over his roast beef sandwich he winds up getting stuck with Jason when Janos finishes eating and hops back up into the truck.

The chile verde has a very intense smell to it, enough that Erik very nearly scoots his chair away from an oblivious Jason. “What the hell goes into that?”

Jason shrugs and crunches another mouthful of chips. “Chile peppers. I don’t really care so long as it’s spicy and there’s no meat in it.”

“Ugh,” Erik says - but after another breath full of redolent heat and spice he hollers up into the truck for a spoon.

Azazel raises an eyebrow at him, but hands him a clean utensil anyway. “Your mother will kill us if she finds out you’ve suddenly turned vegetarian.”

“She’s been vegetarian; it wouldn’t be much of a surprise,” Erik notes. To Jason: “I know I’ve been bitching about it, but let me try that.”

“Sure thing,” Jason says, and when he holds out the flattened cardboard dish Erik carefully scoops up a dollop of faintly greenish dark sauce.

It’s savory and hot and tart and bright, and it is also very spicy, enough that he can _feel_ the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes - but he chews and swallows and says, after he’s had a moment to recover, “I guess it is food after all.”

“Water?” Azazel asks.

“Please,” Erik says.

Jason smirks. “And now you know why I work with you. I love spicy stuff, I love sweets, and chocolate happens to go _really_ well with chile peppers.”

“What kinds of chile peppers would go with the stuff we make, then?”

“Practically everything?” Jason says after he’s wolfed down the last of his lunch. “I’m joking, it’s actually a good question and I will think about it and get back to you. Off the top of my head, however, I’d tell you to look up the Hatch chile.”

“Okay, find me a source and we’ll talk,” Erik says. “And I might even let you name the damn thing if we have any luck.”

*

They park outside one of the coffee places two weeks later. As soon as Erik throws the parking brake and turns the engine off, however, there’s a knock on his door and he blinks when he finds himself looking into Charles’s eyes. “Charles,” he says, surprised and warmed all at once.

“The last thing I expected when I came here to do a bit of studying was you and your lot pulling up,” Charles says, the words lit up by his grin. 

“We can move,” Janos calls from the back.

Erik sticks his head out the window. “No one asked for your opinion!”

The others reply with a chorus of scoffing and laughter.

“Sorry,” he says, next, to Charles. “We’re interrupting you?”

“Not at all,” is the reply. “In fact you might be able to help me. People in there are starting to look at me as though I’ve gone nuts.”

“Over what?”

“Better to just show you,” Charles says. “I’ll move all my stuff out here.”

He watches Charles make three trips between the coffee shop and the passenger’s side of the truck’s cab: a pile of books, a battered messenger bag, and a cardboard coffee cup make their way onto the seat.

The last thing Charles has when he comes in to sit next to Erik is a paper bag. 

“What’s in there?” Jason asks when he appears in Erik’s window.

Charles smiles and blushes at the same time. “Um, well, some of it is turtles, and some of it is - ”

“More turtles?”

“Cheese,” Charles says. “I guess it’s what my brain thinks of as sustenance. There is some evidence for the whole idea of proteins as fuel for people who are studying - I mean, it has to mean something when people eat tuna sandwiches or peanut butter during finals.”

“Cheese and programmers,” Jason says, sagely. “I dated a system admin once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Erik says.

“Me neither,” Charles says.

Jason shrugs. “Controlled release of energy, something like that. Also, tasty.”

“People were laughing at you in there for eating those things?” Erik asks.

Charles nods. “Like they’d never seen it done before.”

“Then you can eat that all you want in here and we won’t say a word at all.” 

“Thanks.”

Erik watches Charles demolish a turtle and then start nibbling on a hand-sized chunk of pale yellow cheese, watches Charles turn the pages of a large textbook with his free hand, and thinks of ideas and possibilities.

*

The truck is filled with the heady, woodsy burnt-toffee scent of nuts coated in honey and sugar, and Erik is not at all surprised when it brings the other three running from where they’d been standing at three corners of the nearby intersection, handing out flyers advertising their candy.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re here to help?” he asks even as he reaches for the oiled mallet he’d prepared beforehand. He brings it to bear on his sheet of honey pecan brittle, and there’s a loud _crack_ when he breaks the candy up.

“Man, this is one of the times when I love this job,” Jason says, and the other two laugh.

“I don’t hear you saying that when you’re making caramel,” Erik says with a grin.

“Not the thing I’m good at. I like working with fondant. Make me do that.”

“Okay.” He hands the other three small portions of brittle, golden shards and brown nuts against white napkins, and waits expectantly for the reactions.

“This is good stuff,” Azazel says after several minutes of crunching. 

Janos doesn’t speak until his portion is gone, and then he just wordlessly holds out his hand for more.

“Just leave enough for two people,” Erik says.

“Yourself and Charles?” Janos asks.

“I already know what it tastes like. Save some for Raven and Charles.”

“Okay.”

“Are we good to go on this?”

“Give us the process, we can start making the first batches,” Azazel says.

Erik points to the tablet computer propped up on a chair, safely away from the stove. “Knock yourselves out. I’m going to take a walk. Need to think about something to sell with that.”

“Ask Charles,” Jason calls.

Erik doesn’t dignify that with a reply.

*

“I swear if I get one more request for chocolates with sea salt,” Janos fumes a few days later, “I might just take a mezzaluna to that person.”

“They’re my requests, not yours,” Erik says, “but you raise a valid point.”

“It’s nice that people are mixing up their tastes, but sea salt was so last year.”

“So think of some other combination. And no, we’re not doing chocolate-covered bacon.”

Jason wanders into the truck, then, with a cup of coffee in the other hand. “Again, ask Charles. And before you flip me off, hear me out. I was there when he was studying and he was eating the turtles with whatever the hell cheese that was, remember?”

Erik thinks that over. “Okay, so, cheese. Suggestions?”

“Cream cheese?” Azazel asks. When the others raise eyebrows at him, he shrugs. “I have a weakness for the stuff and I’m allowed to talk about it. Erik’s making Hatch chile truffles and that’s Jason’s kind of thing, so I should be able to talk about cream cheese in my chocolate.”

“I’m with him so long as it’s not Philadelphia,” Janos says. 

“Snob,” Erik and Jason say at the same time. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“Next, what kind of candy are we putting that in,” Erik says. “Anyone have any objections to fudge?” 

“I never have objections to fudge even when it’s actually uncooked brownie mix,” Jason says. “My parents call it salmonella fudge.”

“Oh, because of the eggs.” Azazel blinks. “I would have no objections to that, either.”

“Okay, so that’s the next menu, boys, write it up, let’s figure this shit out,” Erik says.

*

Erik has a routine on Fridays, now that he knows Charles: he drives the truck past Charles’s apartment just after ten in the mornings, Charles comes down laden with whatever he’s going to be working on for the rest of the day, and they spend a leisurely hour arguing about getting something to eat before Erik sets up shop at his chosen location for the day.

Today, however, he winds up waiting for about fifteen minutes - long enough that he wonders whether he should be worried or not - and when Charles does appear he looks terrible: sallow skin, darker shadows under his eyes than usual, shirt buttoned up wrong.

“Oh, fuck, hang on, I forgot something,” Charles says as soon as he throws his stuff into the passenger seat - and before Erik can say anything he’s off again.

Erik eyes the building’s five floors with no small amount of misgivings, and hopes Charles doesn’t wind up breaking his damn fool neck - there’s no reason for him to hurry, because even if he’s late Erik doesn’t have anywhere to be for another two hours, and what’s going on anyway?

Charles looks distinctly winded when he comes back, and he climbs clumsily into the cab and all but falls into his seat. “ _Sorry._ ”

“What happened?” Erik says.

“Raven broke her arm, been trying to look after her, but sometimes it seems like I just get in the way. She kicked me out, you know. Told me to get lost and stop worrying about her.”

“Who’s taking care of her today, then?”

There’s a beep, and Charles holds up a finger and looks at his mobile phone.

That finger is shaking, and Erik makes himself look away.

Charles lets out an enormous sigh of relief. “That was Moira. She’s at the apartment now, and she says Kitty’s going to join them after her morning classes. So that answers my question and yours, I presume.” 

“You need a distraction,” Erik says.

“Yes, please,” Charles says. “Have you got anything new today?”

“They might be new next week; I’m going to have to spend the weekend tinkering with the recipes.” Erik turns into a parking lot. “Waffles?”

Charles blinks. “Breakfast, please.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I really don’t remember when I last had anything to eat.”

“Fuck,” Erik says, and steers him straight into the restaurant and into one of the booths at the back. “Two waffle plates, fruit bowl, and it will either be water or tea because my friend is starving,” he says to the waitress. 

“I’ll bring you some tea,” is the reply.

When Erik turns back to Charles, he’s listing against the walls of the booth, but he still seems coherent enough for a conversation. “Thank you,” he says, shakily.

“You’re lucky I’ve been in this situation before,” Erik says.

“As the patient or as the mother hen?”

“Both, I’ve been both. I’m not the nicest of patients, and I definitely hover if it’s a friend in the hospital, but at least I have an excuse for that second one. I picked that skill up from my mother.”

“So it’s a skill, is it?” Charles says. He perks up just a little when the waitress deposits a large bowl of cut-up apples and peaches and pineapple in front of him. 

“Eat,” Erik says. “Talking later.”

Charles looks more put-together after breakfast and a quick trip to the men’s room, and he smoothes down his collar and his cuffs after he climbs back into the truck. “Where to?”

“Sciences,” Erik says.

“Good, I’ll call Armando and tell him to tell the others in the labs.”

“When you’re done there’s a box in the back for you, just climb into the back.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Charles says. “Is there a particular order to eating these?”

“Brittle, then the truffle, then the fudge,” Erik says. “If something’s wrong with any of them, I’ll go and kick Azazel’s ass.”

“I’m quite sure that won’t be necessary - oh, these pecans are really good. Funny, it tastes like there’s alcohol in the syrup.”

“There’s none.”

“That’s what I thought. Why does this truffle smell spicy?”

Erik waits for Charles to pop the piece of candy into his mouth before replying: “Because I made it with an infusion from chile peppers?”

The look this gets him from Charles is nothing short of _brilliant_ : he looks outraged and betrayed and he also looks like he wants to smack Erik, maybe with one of his heavy textbooks - but all Charles does is swallow and fan his face with his hand.

Then he grins, thoroughly disarmed and amused. “Well played, Erik. So you tell me what’s in the fudge or else I will not eat it.”

“Uh,” Erik says. He has a sudden urge to swear a blue streak, and he turns that into stalling by driving around the block of red-and-gray brick buildings that house the science halls twice.

Charles laughs. “Wow, I didn’t know you were that prone to being wound up. Here goes nothing,” he says.

Silence in the truck as Erik parks and Charles licks the fudge off his fingers.

“That,” Charles declares, “is the most amazing thing. I didn’t think you guys would be able to come up with anything better than the turtles.”

It takes a moment before Erik can unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “But we didn’t.”

“You just made me eat dark chocolate fudge that had cream cheese in the center,” Charles says. “Are you telling me this wasn’t your idea? That you borrowed it from someone else?”

“Sort of?”

When Charles raises his eyebrow and says “Tell me,” Erik throws in the metaphorical towel.

“We stole the idea from you.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You came in here eating turtles and cheese. The idea kind of stuck,” Erik says, and he’s torn between looking in the mirror to see if he’s blushing and looking out his window.

He settles for looking at the steering wheel instead, and mumbling, “We’re calling it X Fudge. Azazel’s idea, but he says it’s because of your last name, and because we hid the cream cheese in the very center of the fudge squares.”

“Erik?”

“Yes?”

“I think I remember Janos telling me you made everything here yourself.”

“I do make everything myself. I test the candy, I find out if the idea will work or not, then I leave the actual selling batches up to the others.”

“Which means you made these, if these are from the test batches.”

“They are.”

“Look at me,” Charles says.

Erik does.

“You made something because of me. And you let someone in your group name that thing you created for me, too. Thank you.”

Erik lets Charles take his hands. “You are all wonderful and kind people, and you are the best of the lot.”

Erik looks into Charles’s eyes, at Charles’s smile, at Charles’s flushed cheeks - and he makes a helpless sound, and leans in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and kisses Charles. He allows himself just a fleeting contact - and he wants to pull away, if only Charles would let him go.

Instead, Charles says, “Don’t be sorry,” and kisses Erik.

**the end**

_references_  
Candy recipes: honey pecan pralines, Hatch chile truffles, marshmallows


End file.
